


Digitalis

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempted Murder, Established Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Gen, Golden Deer Ferdinand von Aegir, Lorenz Week 2020, M/M, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: Lorenz was expecting a more ruthless denouncement from his father after siding against Adrestia. Instead, he receives a letter and some of his favorite tea.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120
Collections: Lorenz Week 2020





	Digitalis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lorenz Week 2020 prompt "Foxglove". This is a couple days late since it...was supposed to be 2k but almost instantly became longer than that.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> Depiction of someone getting poisoned with symptoms that could resemble a seizure or a heart arrhythmia.
> 
> Thank you to Goop who beta'd this on super short notice for me.

The parcel from Gloucester arrived at Garreg Mach early that morning. After Lorenz was done with his dawn patrol, he found a letter and a coppery canister, simple but elegant, waiting for him on his desk along with the first peachy rays of sunlight. He assumed it was a gift from Claude or Ferdinand, and he’d smiled as he put his nose near the lid and smelled dried rosehips, until he saw the letter and the rose insignia in bloodred wax pressed into the parchment.

The canister in his hand suddenly seemed filled with lead, and he replaced it on the desk as his chest tightened around a hint of acrid fear. He’d not been so naive to think that his actions at Myrddin against the empire wouldn’t be noticed by his father, but a part of him had hoped it would stay unspoken. Everything else had.

Best to get it over with.

With a stiff, tight swallow, like a man readying himself for his own sentencing, Lorenz gently cracked the seal.

_My Son,_

_Let me start by saying that I forgive you. We all choose our own paths. You have done what you think is right. I can only applaud your entry into the great game, and I hope you have chosen correctly._

_Young Lady Amelia sends her love,  
_ _Count Albert Julius Gloucester_

At the signature, Lorenz’s shoulders unwound, releasing tension that he hadn’t known he was carrying. By the standards of House Gloucester, even this script was a burning acknowledgement, more than he’d ever hoped to receive.

His father was taking this surprisingly well.

All his life, he’d followed his father’s orders. Now that he was finding his own way, he’d expected a bitter and rapid denouncement. Count Gloucester was known for affections that only lasted as long as someone was useful. It had applied to both of his wives, and Lorenz had no reason to suspect it wouldn’t apply to him.

He smiled at the mention of Amelia—he and his sister had enough years between them that they’d never spent much time together, but she was now twelve, and whenever he was at Gloucester she followed him asking for war stories, or waited by his writing desk for him to tell her about the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad.

She would have been learning there herself, had the war never happened, but Lorenz could only do so much about that.

He folded the letter before revisiting the tea. When he popped the lid off, he noticed a couple things very quickly.

A neatly folded square of paper was tucked into the rim of the lid. With a confused frown and a little picking, he was able to remove it. He unfolded a piece of stationary that was not especially large, but at a glimpse he recognized the small, smart handwriting.

_Dear Lorenz,_

_I missed you coming back to Gloucester this year, but I understand why you could not. In case you are worried, you are my brother and I am not angry at you. However, I will be utterly furious if you keep all your best stories to yourself the next time I see you._

_I hope you like the tea. It is from last year’s harvest. I know us Gloucesters are all sick of rose-flavored everything, but I thought you might like to have some._

_Love,  
_ _Amelia_

By the time he was done reading, Lorenz had teared up and was grateful for the solitude of his office in order to do so. He sniffed loudly, refolding the precious note. He had been prepared for his father’s wrath, but his sister’s disappointment would have been worse.

She, of course, was always going to reach the age when she ceased to look up to him, but the time since Myrddin had brought with it the fear that she would see him as a turncoat. That she addressed him as she always had filled him with a deep joy, and the gift was a kind one. While he’d been relieved at the contents of his father’s note, Amelia’s was like a stone being lifted off of his chest.

With a fond smile, he turned his attention to the tea in question.

It smelled glorious—tea usually took on the flavors of whatever it was dried and steeped with, and the rosehips carried with them the trademark fragrance of the Gloucester stock. He detected the floral notes first, followed by a standard tea-like bitter must, and something faintly herbal underneath it all.

A fine tea, surely.

Feeling much better than he had for the last couple weeks, Lorenz refolded both letters and stashed them away with the rest of his private correspondence.

Around midday, Ferdinand knocked on the door to Lorenz’s office and blew in like a wildfire, all reds and oranges and flashes of recently oiled armor. His reddish gold hair was held loosely to the side with a crimson-dyed leather band, and it always gladdened Lorenz’s heart to see Ferdinand—but he seemed in an unusually cheery mood.

“Lorenz, I was on my way to the stables but I wanted to stop by.” He stood across from Lorenz’s desk, his arms propped up on his hips like a hero in an opera, which almost disguised the traces of water around his throat and hairline, where he’d washed away sweat—he’d just been doing drills then. “How are you on this sunny day?”

“Well enough, I suppose. I received a letter from my father.” Lorenz was no expert at hiding his expression, and Ferdinand’s smile fell into a look of concern. “It was peaceable! Truly. But the waiting has been no small matter.”

“Are...you all right?” Ferdinand’s mouth fell into a firm line as he made his way around Lorenz’s desk. He rested a hand on the chipped and dented surface, as he waited to see what else Lorenz would say, what else he might choose to confide.

Though, at the moment, Lorenz rather wanted to forget the nervousness that had been stealing his nights and threatening to eat holes in his stomach. “I am doing _good_. On my heart. Merely relieved. He seemed genuine, though I suspect I will be on my own going forward.”

Ferdinand looked as though there was more he wanted to say.

“And—oh, Lorenz, did you receive a new tea?” Ferdinand’s attention targeted the canister that Lorenz had placed on a cabinet not far to his right, not unlike a tame Aegir hound hearing a jar of crackers open. He already excitedly had his hands on the lid before he remembered himself. “Pardon my manners—may I?”

“Of course!” Lorenz gave a broad, approving gesture from his seat. “Amelia sent it along with our father’s letter.”

With a deft flick of his wrist, Ferdinand cracked open the canister and used the lid to brush some of the fine scent off towards his nose. He closed his eyes, as if searching the flavors and letting them settle on his palette.

Lorenz smiled. “Lovely, right? It’s made from our finest dried rosehips.”

Ferdinand opened his eyes, and for a moment had a curious expression. He watched Lorenz carefully before giving the tea another experimental sniff. “There is something else in it. Is that...comfrey?”

“That’s what it is!” Lorenz exclaimed. The easy click of a solved puzzle followed closely behind. _Comfrey_. Of course. “I had wondered. Last time I was at Gloucester I mentioned my knee was bothering me.” He crossed his arms. It was an old riding injury that faith magic had never fully managed to heal, and the ache typically grew worse when the weather was cold. “Say, my darling friend, could I trouble you to take tea with me today? I would gladly share this.”

“Oh, what a twist of fate! Nothing would make me happier than to partake with you, but I only have a moment. Ophelia is not lame, but her leg was swollen last night. I promised I would check on her after my training maneuvers.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.” Whether Ferdinand had promised _himself_ or his _horse_ was unclear, but either way, there would be no dissuading him. Lorenz let out an airy sigh. “Have it your way. The offer will remain open for the future.”

Ferdinand smiled again, and before he left, awkwardly reached out a hand to Lorenz’s shoulder, which Lorenz stiffly accepted with a quirk to his head, even as his mind fell back to the larger letter in his desk.

“Lorenz, it is a dark time, and we know our fathers are—or, were—not the most trustworthy men. I am...glad, things have gone well.” Ferdinand’s expression darkened slightly. “Though, perhaps it would be wise to send the tea to Claude’s apothecaries first? Just to be safe.”

At that, Lorenz felt himself scowling up at his friend. “ _Nonsense_ , Ferdinand. The note was in Amelia’s hand.”

Ferdinand had gotten better at masking his reactions, but Lorenz still caught a stricken look, a shameful glance away—

When Lorenz spoke again, he kept his voice soft. He’d not meant to snap.

“I appreciate your concern—I really do, but I’m not worried.” Lorenz placed his hand over Ferdinand’s. He was grateful they’d both decided to join the professor, that he could even still _do_ this.

With a sigh and another quirk to his lips, Ferdinand offered a light, squeeze of camaraderie before letting his gloved hand slide out from under Lorenz’s palm. “Apologies for my paranoia. It was not my intent to disparage your sister, and I will gladly join you another time.”

Lorenz watched Ferdinand go with...a feeling that could only be described as deep fondness. They’d had so much doubting, the two of them, it felt transcendent to know their paths. Not knowing where the primrose trail led was even more thrilling.

Glancing over, Lorenz saw that Ferdinand had failed to put the lid back on the container before leaving—which was, Lorenz acknowledged with all the deep affection held for a dear friend, somewhat typical.

It wasn’t a terrible excuse to go ahead and have some.

The act of preparing tea was one that Lorenz knew well, and the automatic, methodical steps brought him calm in trying times. First he heated water on a sigil stone until it hissed and boiled, then poured it into a fine porcelain teapot with a few scoops of loose leaves held in a wire mesh near the top. As it steeped, his office filled with an almost sickly sweet aroma, one that reminded him of home.

He poured the dark amber into one of the white porcelain cups from his favorite tea set, and the first sip was delightful. Like the best of a garden, along with a tasteful bitterness, and a hint of what he now recognized as comfrey—comfrey!

With his cup, he got back to work. Normally, he’d take his time and enjoy it, but he’d dallied enough of the morning away on personal trivialities. With his cup in one hand and his pen in the other, he started reviewing reports, requests, and the more official letters and inquiries related to running a war.

The cup was about half empty and the tea gently buzzing in his stomach when Claude tapped a familiar seven-beat rhythm against the door with his knuckles.

Pausing mid-sip, Lorenz spied Claude breezing in with his arms crossed and a teasing grin on his face.

“Hey, Lorenz.”

How Claude could inject so much playfulness into two words remained a mystery. He was in that sort of mood.

“ _Claude_.” Lorenz smiled through a fluttery heat in his chest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Their relationship was still new to Lorenz, though through a series of difficult, stumbling firsts they’d somehow found their way into a comfortable routine. Lorenz didn’t know what to call it, exactly—there was no script for the sort of thing he and Claude had right then.

Though, as he watched Claude meander gracefully around his office, Lorenz had to admit the attention was...nice.

He had some more tea. The sour herbal flavor was stronger now that the beverage had cooled and left a pronounced aftertaste. He swallowed hard as the last sip seemed to wedge in his throat. When it hit his stomach, the impact roiled. Lorenz pressed a fist lightly over his chest. His mistake for drinking tea on an empty stomach.

Claude floated across the room, fiddling with a miniscule statuette of St. Macuil resting on the ancient shelves at the far end of the room. The likeness pre-dated Lorenz claiming the room for his administrative work, and he’d decided to leave it be.

Lorenz rose from his chair, still cradling the teacup with a bent knuckle. “You shouldn’t touch that.”

Claude’s hand darted away from Macuil’s head and he faced Lorenz. “You know what, you’re right. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen in Fodlan.”

Lorenz gave an admitting shrug. He...couldn’t exactly argue with that. He took another sip as he stepped towards Claude, and this time his stomach swirled angrily. He swallowed the discomfort.

But he didn’t need to think about that, all he needed to think about were Claude’s clever eyes. Rather, he should be thinking about the work he still needed to do, but Claude was terribly distracting and knew it—

With a conspiratorial glance back towards the half-closed door, Claude leaned in towards Lorenz. “You know I’m joking, right? We need all the luck we can get.”

“Hm. Spoken like a true gambler.” Lorenz hummed, absently looking for a convenient place to set his drink down, but his eyes fell to Claude’s lips. A wave of light-headedness swam over him, and he rode it out as Claude teasingly reached out to his cravat.

Lorenz blinked. The motion Claude gave could hardly be described as tugging—it was more like he was straightening the knot, and suddenly the room felt unbearably hot, and his cravat was too tight.

He caught Claude’s hand in his own. They were allowed so few moments together. Lorenz badly wanted to make them count.

Breaking his attention away from Lorenz, Claude fixated instantly on the tea. His brow furrowed. “Is that a new blend?”

“You noticed.” Lorenz grinned. “For all your bragging about not having a refined palette, I alone know the truth.”

Claude gave a half-laugh. “Only for some things.” He reached for the teacup. “Where did you get it?”

Nimbly, Lorenz pulled it away. “It was a gift, sent by my sister.”

“...Along with the letter from your father?”

Lorenz sighed. “You too? I don’t see why the two are related, but yes.”

Claude’s face lapsed into something more serious as a thoughtful crease forming on his brow. “Perhaps.”

Opening his mouth to respond, Lorenz paused in place. His stomach churned, and it was the kind of pressure he felt all the way to the crown of his head. He wanted to focus on Claude, but he couldn’t seem to, and he stumbled trying to form sounds over his clumsy tongue.

Something was wrong.

Unsure if he’d spoken or not, Lorenz pressed a triplet of fingers to his temple. His office spun around him, and a frantic drum beat had started up in his chest that he clutched at. Seconds ago he was fine, but now he felt as though he’d been dancing for an hour and matching each measure with a fine paired wine, leaving him ready to collapse over his crumpled legs.

The thought of wine—of eating anything—pushed him over a lip and he overflowed. Lorenz dropped to his knees, his heart thundering as he retched onto the floor.

As the spinning and ringing in his ears ebbed, Claude was at his side.

“—Lorenz!”

He swayed on his knees, retching again. One of Claude’s hands was on Lorenz’s back, the other held his cheek in place, and Lorenz normally wanted to fall into Claude’s warmth, but his skin was burning up, and his heart pounded unevenly and strangely high in his chest.

Claude was talking to him, when he wasn’t yelling.

The spinning stopped for just a second when Claude pulled Lorenz to his chest.

“What...?” He managed against a tremor through his body.

“The tea.” Claude had his lips pressed against Lorenz’s ear, his voice quick and quiet when he wasn’t calling for help. Dimly, Lorenz saw Claude reach for the discarded cup and give a quick lick before tossing it aside. If Lorenz was under his own power, he would have cursed Claude out for such ugly treatment of his best set. “ _Damn_. I thought I recognized... — Teach! Hilda— _Somebody_!”

“It was a gift—” Lorenz broke off, gasping as an invisible hand squeezed his heart. A single skip, an unsteady thump, a missed beat in a quartet. “It was from Amelia.”

“Sorry, Lor, but it really wasn’t.” Claude gave a high, angry laugh. “I don’t think a kid put foxglove in there.”

“Foxglove? But that’s…” Poisonous. Another violent tremor went through him, and he straightened his back, trashing in Claude’s arms.

“Claude, why the heck are you _yelling_?” There was a familiar voice from the door, though Lorenz couldn’t turn to look, Claude held his face, fingers almost painfully pressing to his jaw.

“Hilda! In my room there’s a black leather satchel. I need it _now_. Send any healer you see on the way but I _need_ that satchel.”

“He doesn’t look so good,” there was an odd crack to Hilda’s voice. “Why is he—”

“Hilda. _Now_. _Please_.”

Lorenz felt her footsteps thundering away more than heard them, and he was back to swimming around the room, back to swaying around Claude. Weakly, he grasped at the breast of Claude’s tunic, searching for anything that might steady him.

“Claude, I’m scared.” To himself, his voice sounded small and far away, creaking out over the rhythm in his chest.

“Yep, that’s because you’re dying.” Claude squeezed him tighter as Lorenz sank down to the floor. The hand that was holding him turned into two fingers pressed into the base of his jaw. “I need you to stay with me, all right?”

Lorenz knew, he supposed, or at least his body did, but he’d never heard Claude so desolate before. Did that mean it was true? He tried to summon a response, some last words worthy of him, but none came.

“ _Shit_.”

He was beyond even the smallest response now, all he saw was the woven cream of Claude’s tunic and the saffron of his cape. Every other color had the audacity to disappear from Lorenz’s vision, painting his world with a thin shimmer of gold.

If Claude said anything else, Lorenz didn’t hear it.

The first thing Lorenz noticed when he woke up in the infirmary was the bouquet of fresh flowers at his bedside. They were a collection of simple flowers, the kind the Professor grew in the greenhouse, and they shone in brilliant reds, yellows, pinks, and whites against the hot sun coming in through the window. All of them were fortunately non-fatal, but the odor nearly sent his stomach reeling again.

He was too tired to sit up and cough, his chest ached. His heart still beat firmly and stayed maddeningly noticeable, but the pace and rhythm had returned to normal.

Lorenz closed his eyes again, head sinking heavily into the pillow.

He was alive.

And through that misery, he was aware of being the dumbest noble fop ever to get poisoned in the halls of Garreg Mach.

Surely someone ready to join the great game would not eat any food he had not broken the seal on himself? _Stupid_.

“Hey, welcome back.” Lorenz weakly turned his head to see Claude perched on a chair next to him. One leg was folded up to support the blue-leather bound book in his hand, and the other was outstretched to Lorenz’s bed side.

Lorenz dimly blinked. “I feel as though I was hit by a carriage.”

“Nope, just a fancy tea. Shame on you, by the way.” Claude’s voice sounded wrong—thick with sleep or something else. “Ferdinand’s been inconsolable for days. Teach finally ordered him out of the infirmary.”

Lorenz chuckled, which made his chest hurt more. “Have you been instructed to rest as well?”

“Not yet.” Claude gestured to his book. “Although I probably should have been. I’ve been rereading this same chapter for hours now.”

He dropped his leg down from Lorenz’s bed and slammed his book shut before placing it on the stand next to them. He screeched the chair across the wood floor until he was closer, and seemed to collapse into his elbows. “You’re awake. I should go tell Manuela.”

“It can wait a moment.” They sat in silence for a moment, with Claude rubbing his own face and Lorenz rallying the strength to reach out to Claude’s wrist. “How long…?”

“It’s been about three days.” Claude pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lorenz, this is my fault—”

“—No. Don’t you dare, Claude.” Lorenz had no idea how firm his voice actually sounded, so fresh off of death’s own doorstep. He was sure he’d have similar words for Ferdinand, who had certainly been tearing himself up over the difference between comfrey and foxglove. “No one is at fault other than my father.”

As he spoke, his voice caught on the words, reality sinking in at about the same time.

His own father had tried to kill him. Had told Amelia to pen a note knowing Lorenz’s first cup would be a fatal dose.

Of course the Count had always used his children as shields and swords and spies, Lorenz now knew, but he thought Amelia too young to be used as a pawn.

“You know,” he started, fighting a stinging sensation, “I knew he could be a wretched man, but I never thought…”

Claude was at his side, brushing hair away where it stuck to his sweaty brow. “Lor, shh. We can worry about that later. Just focus on feeling better, okay? It can all wait for later.”

If Lorenz broke off in a sob, he was glad only Claude was there to hear it.


End file.
